A Cure for Writer's Block™

"You're supposed to be melting", he whined. He pawed in his pocked for more water, tossed a palmful at her face.

She shook it off, spat it back at him. "Melt? From a bit of water... you're an idiot."

"It's been told for centuries," he wailed. "Water for a witch a puddle makes."

"I've literally never heard that. And I've read a lot of lore. What kind of priest are you?"

It's a long story, he whispered as he looked towards the altar. He pushed off with both legs, tucked, flipped back over the fulcrum of her arms on his...

"When you're lost in the woods, stop moving."

So this is what it had come to. She was about six hours too late for that, arrogance and panic combining to create a deadly cocktail that had grasped her from within, and recklessly put one foot in front of the other until she was alone, stranded, confused, and hopelessly lost.
She'd read books about this. Seen horror stories on the news. And yet, they hadn't prepared her for her own hike, her own little detour off the gravel path just for a moment to capture the beauty of an errant mushroom...

That the church had kept her from the throne was of no matter; she had been born for this, had been promised this by birthright, by the divine right of kings imbued in her very flesh and blood.
Brandishing the sword above her, she swung and missed by a hair as the bishop leapt to the left. He slipped a hand into a hidden pocket, throwing water on her.
"Be gone, witch!" he cried. "There is nothing here for you, nothing that belongs to you. You have been banished by the people."
She seized him by the lapels. "The will...

Her home lay behind her. And the aurora ahead. It would be cooler in the north, as it was in the far south. She could wear a sweater again. Be invisible again. Her body unscrutinized.

She leaned down the slope into the first valley of the first range of mountains. She took her first step towards solitude.

Three valleys later, a plain spread before her. She saw a river, so many trees, and... smoke.

She crept to the edge of the clearing, peered towards the village. Perhaps she wasn't the most original, the cleverest, but perhaps also she would feel...

Breathlessly she pried open the little box on her palm. Her eyes widened.
"How, how could this..." Footsteps approached behind her. She whipped around.
"Hello Kelsey." The smooth, silvery voice said.
"Kent!" She burst into tears. "The box... did you know? How did you know? I-I wouldn't have done this if you had told me... I only wanted this violence to end!"
"Well, Kelsey, if I had told you, you would have shot me."
Kelsey once again turned her gaze to the little casket in her hand and the name engraved on its lid. The engraving seemed to burn a...